The Lonely Hearts Club
by HalcyonSeasons
Summary: As another one of my one-shots on snarky little takes on Bella's inner monologue, this takes place in New Moon, at the movie theater. Bella's indecisiveness is raging, man. Here's to those who can't make up their mind but know perfectly well how much they suck. Join the club; we've got jackets. Rated T for teenage humorous angst.


_**A/N: **Hi, I'm back. This might be one of the only one-shots you get between now and Sunday. Real life's knocking on my door and I've got things to do between now and Sunday. Yeah. So, anyway, I have this new one-shot. It's another one of my snarky, sarcastic, bitchy Bella one-shots. I like to write these a lot. But seriously, guys (especially Josh and Cassy). Do you guys actual like these, or just consider them a waste of your time? Is Bella's obsessive inner monologue annoying you yet? What do you think!? Well, you've got some time to think about that. For now, though, and for everyone who was lucky enough (ha) to click on this, enjoy._

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_**The Lonely Hearts Club**_

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_I feel like if I'm too kind then you will only change your mind / take advantage of my heart and I'll go back into the dark_

_Marina and the Diamonds, "Lonely Hearts Club"_

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"_But don't get mad at me for hanging around, okay? Because I'm not giving up. I've got loads of time."_

What the hell am I supposed to do with you? What the hell am I supposed to do with _me_? My inner indecisiveness is riffing through my broken mind like nobody's business. Every part of me is broken, though. Lonely. Why do you want me so much? _God._ Do I smell like flowers or peppermint or something? Is my raging beauty distracting to you? What's shielding you from seeing how bad I am? I mean… come on.

Jake, you are an idiot. You don't really want to be with somebody like me. You keep telling me with your actions that you do, though. You tried holding my hand as soon as we were out of the theater… and for the short time that I let you, I felt warm. Safe. Secure.

You can't push me now, though. I already told you that I like you more than Mike (_oh God, I think I can smell his puke_) and everyone else. I love you. Why wouldn't I? I already admitted to telling you that I find you attractive (which happened in a time of near intoxication, I might add). You _are_ beautiful. Why wouldn't you be? Seriously. What more do you want from me?

Okay, dumb question. I know exactly what you want. You want me to give you a chance. You want to make my heart less lonely, but in a more permanent and exclusive way. You want me to want the D. (Insert teenage boy laughter.) The D as in dating. You want me to want _you_. And in all honesty, I want to make your heart less lonely, too. You used to be fine. It was me who messed you up kind of. Am I not right?

What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm so unwavering, and I can't even lie to you well. You know I don't mind when you hold my hand. You're holding onto it now, as we sit on this staircase at the movie theater. I can't fight you. You've got me, Jake. I've surrendered to your signs of affection. I have nothing left to give and I'm raising my white flag. Fine. You've won there. I don't mind you holding my hand at all. I don't mind your hugs. I don't mind any of it. I don't even care what Mike has to say about it. He's just Mike. I'm already the good girlfriend without making anything official.

I tell you that it's different, though. _We_ to me are different than _us_ to you. From anyone watching, they'd think we're dating. No, more than that: they'd think we're in—wait for it—_total love_. Anyone watching would think we're a cheesy couple in a cheesy teen movie with a cheesy soundtrack and cheesy sketches of hearts floating over our heads. But we're not like that to me. Or maybe we are. Maybe I just can't admit it. I've never been very honest with myself, let alone other people. I'm just a life-ruiner. I ruin peoples' lives. I'm making our hearts ache more and more.

You know what? Maybe we should just form a club. We can get denim jackets with electric pink hearts embroidered on the back and the word _Lonely_ scrolled over it. That would be cute. We could form the official Lonely Hearts Club. It could go from January to December… not a bad idea.

Then again, my ideas tend to suck. Remember when I fell off the motorcycle (which was my idea) and pretty much cracked my thick, stupid skull? I do. Not that good of an idea. Whoops.

I'm so hesitant. I don't want to create a stupid club now. I'm just a cruel, morbid, sarcastic, annoying human being. The narrator of the hard-knocked life of a whiny, American, teenage girl. I don't like who I am. I know what my mother would say if she could hear my thoughts now: _No, sweetie. You're beautiful. You have to love yourself. _You'd probably say the same thing, just not in a maternal sort of way. Well, I don't like who I am, but I'm stuck with myself. Nobody said I ever had to accept myself, anyway. I'm not going to be a model or anything. I can easily look at myself and say, _Well, shit. I fucking suck._ It's that simple because I really do suck.

I don't think I suck that much when I'm with you, though. You desuckify me. Hey, I made up a word. _Desuckify._ Really, though, Jake. I feel sort of accepting of myself when I'm with you. If I could find a way to accept you all the time and especially accept _us_, then I would be golden.

However, acceptance is a pendulum. All of a sudden, I can't accept you. Your finger traces a design on my wrist, and you point out my vampire bite mark. You ask where it comes from, and I get snappy. I cover up the scar and push you out. This is none of your business. I want to tell you to get off my shit, go fuck yourself, and count your own damn scars… but I can't. I am the weakest person I know. I'm so apologetic of everything and so unsure of anything I should or shouldn't do. I'm ridiculous.

I'm going to ask you an honest question, Jake: why the actual hell do you like me? Is this a sort of social experiment? Are you going to take data and bring it to your actual Lonely Hearts Club? Are you leading this on, just as I'm remorsefully doing the same thing? I'm desperate to know.

Mike finally emerges from the bathroom (_he smells so fucking gross I'm gonna scream_), and I can feel myself mentally running back to the dark. Whatever light that you brought to me immediately left. There's more loneliness, but it's the usual kind. It's not that hurtful for me, or I'm just used to the pain. I know you feel lonely, too. I'm sorry I make your heart ache all the time. I'm sorry I'm such a bitch. I'm sorry for being _me_.

Fuck.

Is it fair to say that I've found something worse than your lonely heart? I've realized how much I suck. It was never my job to be a heartbreaker. I'm not about that life. That shit's too hardcore for me. Maybe I should just start a club for myself. Something like _Heartbreakers Anonymous. _Not bad, right? No, wrong. It's terrible.

I'm glad you're not giving up on me. I'm going to need all the time in the world.


End file.
